


Team Spirit

by Rachel24601



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Awkward Sexual Situations, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mind Games, Morally Ambiguous Character, Power Play, Relationship Issues, Secret Relationship, Unrequited Love, Unrequited Lust
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-07-02 19:49:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15803406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rachel24601/pseuds/Rachel24601
Summary: Set at the beggining of season 4. As Sara faces her inner demons in Los Angeles, Kellerman is asked to join the inmates' team by Agent Self. It's the occasion for her to learn to cope with what he's done... and for him to come to terms with what he feels for her. WARNINGS: slurs, Ke/Sa (one-sided), sexual situations and mention of sexual abuse.





	1. Alliances

**AN: this story was among my first fanfictions, so there was obviously some Ke/Sa involved. I re-read it a couple of days ago and decided I wanted to give it another chance. I’d be very interested to know your reactions. Enjoy.**

…

_'An ordinary man gets arrogant with beauty, conceited with knowledge and ruthless with power.'_ _  
_Amit Kalantri__

When he walked into the warehouse and faced her for the first time since he had saved her life in court, Paul Kellerman suddenly remembered the first glimpse he had caught of Sara Tancredi. It had happened in his car, through the slit of a tinted window. Walking down the street with her head higher than a bloody statue when a welcomed gust of wind had tousled her auburn hair. Of course, she’d have no memory of this as she hadn’t met him until much later. Behind his sunglasses and the window of his Sedan, Kellerman had been invisible. But he remembered everything. The black shirt that fitted her far too well for her own good, the wind carrying the smell of strawberry lotion, filling his nostrils, until Sara Tancredi was all he could breathe.

Kellerman was about ninety percent sure the emotions he felt for her weren't love. He had loved a woman called Caroline Reynolds, once, which love had died at some point during their time together that he could not recall. Paul Kellerman viewed love as a never-ending battle for domination. _Power_. Well. He couldn't see why, in the end, it would be any different with Sara.

The look in her eyes was scornful and certainly a struggle for control all of its own, and jeez Louise, if a look could kill. He reckoned that what little he felt for Sara wasn’t much more than frustrated desire, because he found her attractive, slightly intriguing, because he wanted her and he could never have her. Just the once would be enough, to get her out of his system once and for all.

But she’d hate him for as long as she would live. The look on her face was transparent. Containing it, like the well-behaved girl her parents had raised her to be, but if she had a lace in her hands right now and another occasion to strangle him...

His joining the team was not in her hands, nor was it in her boyfriend's or in his brother's, for that matter.

Kellerman saluted the team with a polite but obnoxious smirk, which imperceptibly widened when he reached her. "A pleasure to see you again, Sara."

The young woman looked down at the hand he was extending. It was a peace offering, or so she tried to convince herself, because it might as well be the paw of a big bad wolf that’s been dipped in flour, and she didn’t want to be the stupid lamb that gets eaten at the end of the tale. She knew that Michael was right there, only a few steps behind her, and for this she felt a bit more secure. She slid her hand into Kellerman's without letting the contact linger, and stiffly put her hand back to her side. He smiled thinking that she was going to wash that hand twice the second she had the chance.

Kellerman wondered in a corner of his mind if, despite her hatred, she had come to respect him somehow. Maybe because he was going to help with her boyfriend's exoneration, or maybe because he had saved her ass in court. No, he figured with amusement. No, because of that, she probably hated him more.

…

"It's only a matter of weeks." Michael whispered to her. Stroking her hair soothingly while she had her head nested against his shoulder, but it was no good, the romantic atmosphere of the boat cabin tainted by the thought of Kellerman sleeping upstairs. "Soon all of this will be behind us."

"You really think that?" Sara asked. "That in a matter of weeks, we can get Scylla and use it to bring down the company? We don't even know what it is, it all sounds so –"

"Impossible." Michael interrupted. "I know. But we have a whole team here with us, Sara. I mean, I don't like Kellerman more than any of us but he is a good asset, he worked for the company once."

"I suppose you're right."

Michael sighed understandingly. "But you still don't like this."

"I still don't like this." She confirmed.

"You think that I do?" He said softly. "I hate that I have to look this man in the eye, Sara. I would very much like him to be half the world away or better yet, underground. But we need to be smarter about this." He smiled warmly. "Because if we get through this, in a month or two, it'll be just you and me in some sunny paradise, drinking cheap beers on the beach. Maybe we can finally go on that date I owe you."

Sara smiled at the thought, and pointed out, amused. "I guess when you say the two of us, you mean you, me and Lincoln, and that when you say cheap beers, you mean soda. The ex-alcoholic thing kind of kills the deal."

"I beg to differ.” Michael resumed more seriously. “I do want Kellerman dead, Sara, but I want a life with you even more."

"So do I." Sara closed her eyes against his chest. “Are you staying tonight?”

“I wish I could.” He shook his head. “There’s work to do.”

The truth weighed on both their minds. Those stolen moments of intimacy was all they would get until this whole thing was behind them.

Michael pressed a kiss to her cheek and waited for her to be half asleep before he slipped out of bed and put his clothes on. Reluctant to leave as always, his eyes were dripping with worship when he stood by the door, and Sara wondered if any other woman on this planet had ever been the receiver of so much love.

When he was gone, a strange feeling took possession of her. Life had been unreal since she had met Michael Scofield, but this place, the team – it all seemed to have gone to a new level.

First, her romance with Michael had been catapulted forward, the both of them diving head first into a relationship – his fear of losing her, her fear of dying without ever seeing him again. She both felt that they’d never been closer than they were now and yet, she could see so little of him, couldn’t even claim her in her bed for a full night. A cynical part of her wondered if in this future life he promised they would have, it would be the same – if she would often find herself alone in their bed while he was out working. It was wrong to think it and she cursed herself for it right away. But for as long as she had known Michael, he had promised her that things would get better, after. After his brother and he were out of prison, after the company were finally off their backs, and currently, it was after they had found six Scylla cards that would allegedly be the end of their troubles.

For as long as she could recall, things had only seemed to get worse after every step. But that didn't matter and Sara knew it, because if it did, she would have left long ago. She supposed that ever since she had stared into Michael's eyes and he had quoted Gandhi at her, she had known that her love for him would be unconditional. Only unconditional love can push you to cooperate with your former torturer. She knew it had not been Michael's call, but she supposed deep down she had hoped he would get furious and shout that he’d quit the team if Kellerman had to be a part of it. It wasn't Michael's type and she knew it, but maybe secretly, she had hoped for it.

Besides, she didn't trust the man. Kellerman was a snake and every word he spoke was a lie, every smile was an insult and the way that he looked at her – she didn't know what word to put on it. She couldn't concentrate or think or even breathe with him around. Deep down, she had probably expected Michael would feel the same. She didn't resent him for it still, because she knew that Michael didn't love her with _that_ kind of love. The love that says _hurt her and die_. He wasn't that kind of man.

Then a thought flashed through Sara's mind, so ridiculous and sudden that she opened her eyes at once.

Kellerman was probably the kind of man that would kill for her. It occurred to her despite herself, inexplicably. That didn't make sense at all, and yet it seemed to, in a way. It felt to Sara very much as though Paul Kellerman would not abide someone hurting her, not because he gave a damn, but in a possessive way. He had hurt her himself more than anyone, and yet she was immediately certain that if anyone else ever did, he would put a bullet in them.

And just like that, Sara realized how it was that Paul Kellerman always looked at her. As if she was his.

…

Sara was awake long before the sun was up. The noise was partly responsible, since she could hear basically everything that was going on in the warehouse. The thought brought a sudden panic as she wondered if accordingly, the rest of the team could hear everything that was going on in her boat cabin. She and Michael were never usually _very_ loud, but still…

Her cheeks flushed red. Really, it was all she needed right now, that a bunch of criminals whom she would have to team with for the next few weeks heard her having sex with their leader.

Before she got up, she waited for the dawn to break in order to give Michael a chance to join her. Around seven, she put on some clothes and got down from the boat, and once she got to the main room, she discovered her boyfriend, alone, buried in files with a fist against his forehead.

"Hi." She whispered behind him, and took advantage of the others' absence to snake her arms around his torso.

"Morning." He responded with a quick look towards her and the shadow of a smile.

"You've been working all night?"

"Have I?" He sounded so genuinely startled that Sara's chest pinched with ache. "I've probably lost track of time."

"Well, I'm going to go and get you some coffee." She suggested, and she supposed she was the fittest to do this much since she was the only free citizen here.

"Thanks, that would be great."

It was a sunny day, Sara noted as she walked out of the warehouse. She supposed most days were, in Los Angeles but she didn't see much of the sun, being locked up with the team most of the time. She walked down the street and ordered twelve drinks at a café, thinking she might as well embrace the fact that she was of no true use to the team apart from running errands. It was better than having to flirt with guards, far too cliché as she was the only woman of the gang, but desperate times and all…

When she went back to the warehouse, everyone was already up and working on the same files Michael had been studying. Sara spotted Kellerman in a corner of the room. There was no point in denying that his presence didn't leave her indifferent.

He looked up from his paper and met her eyes with a kind of knowingness that immediately chilled her blood. She put the coffees down on the table and excused herself after Michael had briefly brushed her shoulder with his hand. None of the men paid too much attention to her when they were working.

Before she left the room, she threw Kellerman one last glance and was surprised to meet his eyes again. What was more surprising was, he didn't lower his gaze.

And for a moment, there didn't seem to be anything evil or devious in Paul Kellerman's blue eyes, and so it crossed her mind that maybe, _maybe_ , behind the snake or whatever animal the man was, there was something human in there, too.

A soul. A conscience. Maybe even a heart.

Still dark and rotten as it was.


	2. Hell

“Having conquered the violence of his feelings, he appeared to despise himself for being the slave of passion.”

 

Mary Shelley, _Frankenstein_

 

…

Paul Kellerman let out a deep exhale as he lay in bed, wide awake, and decided that of every instance of physical duress he had been put through in his life, this was without a doubt the worst.

It was not as though he was trying to listen.

The situation might have amused him if it hadn’t been so excruciatingly painful, and he really wished the young couple in the room downstairs would keep a little more to themselves.

Because, naturally, it was not any couple.

Kellerman wasn't aware whether Sara or Michael knew that every living soul in this warehouse – not that they weren't making enough noise to wake the dead – were now perfectly filled in on their private relationship, or if they just hadn't realized how thin the walls of the building were. He couldn't picture that PDA was Sara's type. As a gentleman, he found it his duty warn her, if only to protect her modesty, but he couldn’t figure out a way of bringing it up without coming off as a jerk.

He exhaled for the fifth type and turned around in his bunk in search of a more comfortable position. It wasn't as though he was the jealous type. Yet here he was, clenched teeth and fists, unable to find sleep and honestly a little aroused, while the woman he had been rather obsessed with for the past month was downstairs getting off with a man he was now positive he hated.

It didn't sound fair. What would have been fair, Kellerman reckoned, was for him to have known from the beginning that Sara Tancredi wouldn’t just nicely get out of his head when he wanted her to. Then maybe instead of playing the gay best friend, he would have done something about that nagging itch of his instead of being stuck with it. Yes, he figured if he’d already drawn those satisfied moans from Sara himself, right now he would only be smirking contently at the thought that he’d beat Scofield to her.

The noises below him mercifully got quieter then came to an end. Only some ten minutes after that, he heard the door of Sara's boat cabin close, and Scofield's footsteps heading towards the main room. It struck him as interesting. Kellerman wouldn't have thought Scofield was the kind to just do his thing and leave a woman alone in bed. Maybe they were more alike than the young man cared to acknowledge. But even with that thought in mind, Paul didn't manage to grin.

Below him, Sara was tossing around in her own bunk. You had to see the irony here. Even though her thoughts were poles apart from his, she was probably thinking about him, too. He took a petty pleasure in it. Honorable wasn’t the word he’d use to describe his thoughts about Sara Tancredi. Not that Paul liked to dwell too much in daydreams, but now and then he allowed himself to indulge in the occasional fantasy – probably, the young woman would kill him if she somehow happened to replaced his mental recreation of her who was happy to comply with his every demand. But the fantasies weren’t the worst of it, didn’t come close to compare with the anger that caught hold of him, those moments when he thought he’d go mad from not having her; and he never could.

Frustration beat in every vein, painted his sight red, struggled against reason in his head.

What a strange night.

On this, despite their differences, Sara might think he was right.

 

…

 

Around six, Kellerman went to the kitchen first to fetch some coffee.

Before he had the chance to look, a voice sounded behind him loud and clear. "There isn't any."

Paul turned around to face Michael Scofield, a look of dignified graveness on his face, a file in hand.

"Shame." Kellerman spoke cautiously. “If Self thought we were going to find Scylla without a coffee machine, I wish he hadn’t called me.”

"Sara went out to get some."

Kellerman nodded. "I see."

"You know, she won't make waves around you." Michael stated coldly. "Despite everything you've done, she won't treat you any different from anyone else in the team. I strongly recommend you do the same thing – that you ignore her, make it easier for her to ignore you."

“Is that so?”

“No use in adding to her suffering. Don’t you think?”

Paul's lips broke into a grin, but his eyes didn’t agree. The young man Scofield knew a few tricks about self-composure. Kellerman admired that. He used to be quite good at it himself, until things started getting out of control… Until that jackass Bill Kim told him over the phone that Frank Tancredi’s daughter was becoming a problem. Until that motel room in New Mexico, when Sara had refused to give up the information that would save her life. He had lost his temper then. He’d lost it because she should be panicking and yet _he_ was shouting at her. Shouting that she was an idiot and she was going to die, until he was grabbing at the back of her neck and pushing her inside the tub.

Then everything had been back to quiet, inside Paul Kellerman.

Before either man could say anything, the front door audibly opened and closed. Michael went back to the main room without adding one word, but he kept his eyes fixed on Kellerman for as long as he was in the room. Kellerman followed the young man then carelessly grabbed a file from the table, where the rest of the cons were already working. Sara had only just arrived, and he was in time to see her put a dozen Starbucks takeaway cups on the table.

He reckoned the woman was probably wondering what she was doing, bringing drinks to wanted criminals, looking at the man she loved, trying to help them work to solve a national crisis she would not even be involved in, if it wasn't for him.

Kellerman looked into Sara's eyes, and for a moment it felt like the room around them was empty. Most likely, it was just a deceptive impression, yet no one from the team seemed to pay attention to Sara when she walked out the door.

And, without truly being certain why, only a moment later, he was following.


	3. Let the Rain

_"Once upon a time there was a boy who loved a girl, and her laughter was a question he wanted to spend his whole life answering."  
Nicole Krauss_

...

Sara sat on the dock and nervously ran a hand through her red hair.

"Beautiful day."

The comment made her stiffen and she turned around right away. The voice was recognizable among million others. Who wouldn’t recognize the voice of the man that they believed would kill them?

Sara sat still, clenched teeth, like enduring the feel of an insect creeping down your neck. Showing a strong front, trying to look comfortable. Of course, she was _not_ comfortable, sitting by the ocean near Paul Kellerman; it would not be the ideal position to run if she suddenly needed to.

"May I sit down?" He asked.

Ridiculous he should even think of it, sitting next to her as if they were old chums, but what was even more ridiculous was that she answered, “Of course.”

Damn those deeply incrusted manners. My, wouldn't her father be proud? She was in the city of Angels, teaming up with a bunch of men, all of them criminals, but at least she was _polite_ , no matter the circumstances.

Immediate discomfort overwhelmed her as Kellerman sat down next to her, staring at the sea as she was a moment ago. Now, her eyes were darting cautious glances his way. _I’ll just wait in icy silent, the awkwardness will get thick and smothering, and he’ll go. He’ll go_.

Then, suddenly, she could feel his eyes on her. Hot, oppressive, burning holes into her skin. “We should talk, you know.”

“I don’t see why.”

“Well, to clear the air. Make our time here easier. I don’t want you to be confused as to what happened in New Mexico. It wasn’t personal.” It sounded wrong now, because he had said it too many times.

Sara’s teeth gritted harder. She could picture the white enamel shattering in a thousand pieces, her mouth crammed with small shards and blood. As if she were a child who needed _explanations_.

“No confusion.” Her answer came out deliberately cold. "I find it obvious that you didn't torture me because you didn't like my cooking."

"I love your cooking."

Kellerman watched her drag in a breath of disbelief and disgust. It would snow in hell, he thought, when he would get her to laugh again.

“I have nothing to say to you, Kellerman.” He admired her dignity, the way her head was held high, like an ice queen dismissing the lowest of her subjects. “We’ve been brought here because of something that goes beyond what we’ve been through in the past. For as long as you’ll stay here, I’ll appreciate that you don’t talk to me when it isn’t absolutely necessary."

"That sounds reasonable." He agreed, and yet Sara didn’t feel like she’d won.

“So,” she looked at him, a little annoyed now – no longer intent on waiting for her cool, composed message to make its way in. If she was going to have to burst this door wide open, by God, she was going to do it, if it got Paul Kellerman out of her sight in the next few minutes. “Does this here feel like _absolutely necessary_ conversation?”

Now that she was looking his way, she could see he was smiling. The smile used to look okay on her friend Lance, but on Kellerman it was _insufferable_. What was the point in him wearing a mask when she’d looked underneath already? On the spur of the moment – her anger might have been to blame – she felt she had more respect for his pragmatic torture than she had for that placating smile.

 “Point taken.” He said compliantly; yet he did not motion to get on his feet. “If you would have me put it more bluntly, I was only thinking you and I might want to work on settling our issues, if we’re going to cooperate in the future. Our working together hasn’t been such a success in the past, has it?”

“If you’re referring to my locking you out of our rolling car and leaving you to deal with your ex-colleagues, I thought it was a brilliant success – and the most merciful you could expect.”

“You know what?” He said; no heat in his voice, but there was a little, now, in his eyes. “It actually seems to me you were having a better time with me in Chicago. I’m starting to wonder, are you so angry because of what happened in Gila, or because I saved your life?”

Her brown gaze caught fire. You had to admire, he thought, how passion became her. “Let's get one thing straight." She said. "You don't get to get credit for what you did in court. You didn’t do it for me – and you did no more than publicly acknowledge your wrongs. You don’t get to call it your _saving_ me when it was nothing but a failed suicide attempt.”

The silence between them was inflammable. A look of calm, impassive rage in Kellerman’s eyes. It occurred to Sara she might want to be more careful. He might be all harmless looking with his smirk and his irritating attitude, but he could strike as quick as an animal and she ought not to forget it. She could never forget it, anyhow.

"Really." He said, quite as cold as she was. "If we're going to talk about suicide attempts, Sara, shouldn't we include yours?"

Surprise cut into her. In a flash, her overdose came back to her, and it felt ridiculous she hadn’t thought he would know this sort of thing about her – when the company sent an agent to infiltrate your life, they probably made sure they knew everything, from what sort of TV programs you watched to who you were fucking.

Sara realized her mouth was open and she hurriedly closed it, teeth grinding against teeth again.

She didn’t need to say that was low. She’d hit pretty low, too, but he deserved it. As if he read her mind, Kellerman softened his voice. "Despite what you might think, Sara, I am not here to upset you. All I want is to help you."

Help her? The very words made her want to laugh. The man had been about to _execute_ her.

The reality of what had happened in New Mexico collapsed against the wall of denial. Absurd, she thought, if he denied it, right now, she might even believe him. A few months ago, the idea that such a thing as torture could happen to someone like her was unthinkable.

Becoming a criminal to save a man’s life didn’t mean she’d deserved anything like that. When this whole thing was over and all the people in this warehouse walked free, Sara thought that despite what she’d had to do to survive, unlike many of them – unlike Paul Kellerman – she would be clean.

"That's very kind of you." The mere words seemed to rip her throat. Sara Tancredi had learned long ago that to keep calm in any situation felt like stabbing yourself in the thigh and trying to smile.

Kellerman appeared to read her mind. "All right,” he said. “I'll leave you to your thoughts." He got up and headed back to the warehouse.

Sara kept her eyes on him until he had disappeared, until she was sure he wouldn't turn around and, say, push her head underwater until she drowned. Then she looked back at the ocean, and suddenly thought it had been a while since Kellerman had joined her outside. Absolutely anything could have happened while they were alone, and yet Michael was still with the others, working.

It brought a taste of failure in her mouth. Michael was supposed to be her way out, her shiny light at the end of the tunnel. Sara wouldn’t say she’d had a happy life – apart from a few terrible episodes like quitting morphine, it hadn't been bad, but it had never been _happy_ either. Really, there was no reason why not. Enough money to live comfortably and an undying passion for medicine hadn’t been enough to steer her back on the right path. If even Michael couldn’t tame her sorrow, what in the world would? Wasn’t that the sort of love they sold you – fierce and hungry but also _mending_ , filling the cracks of your broken identity until you were one, ready to give yourself completely.

_What would Michael do,_ she suddenly wondered, _if I walked into that warehouse and ripped the files from his hands until he was looking at me? What would he say if I asked him to run away, now, no more waiting?_

She’d given everything she owned for him. She couldn't see why he wouldn't do the same thing.

It was a few minutes before Sara could shake the thought. It wouldn’t always be like this, part of her knew it. Things would get better, they would stop running, and then –

Then, a terrifying thought occurred to her. Maybe _she_ was the problem. Not the drugs, not her father’s cold upraising or her mother’s untimely death. Maybe some people weren’t meant to be happy or great. Maybe this was the best it got.

Then out of the blues, she heard the sound of footsteps behind her again. She hadn't heard the sound of the warehouse door opening, and she turned around cautiously and stiffened when she recognized Kellerman.

He stood tall, apparently impassive, blue eyes curiously staring into her own. "What are you doing here?" She asked it bluntly this time. The hell with politeness.

And still she hated the anger in her tone, as she hated the common thoughts it might convey. _Poor little rich kid who’s bored with everything._

"Would you walk with me?" Kellerman asked.

Surprise made Sara speechless. He hadn't asked as though he was expecting rejection.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Do you want to walk?" He rephrased, visibly unashamed.

She blinked at him as though he would realize this made no sense. "With you?"

He sighed with faint impatience. "Why not?"

"Should I list every reason?"

"Wouldn't it be better than to sit here?" He asked, and he sounded – calm. He sounded _knowing_. For a moment, it crossed Sara's mind that she had truly been feeling miserable all morning, and from every man inside this warehouse, Paul Kellerman was the only one who had bothered to notice.

But that was not the reason why she got on her feet and started walking with him. Maybe it was just to piss off Michael, although that was petty and he would likely not notice she was gone. Maybe it was truly that she had no idea what else to do and that, at the moment, even Kellerman’s company didn’t feel as bad as her own cynicism.

"Shouldn't you be working anyhow?" Sara asked at some point. They had followed the path that led down the beach, the tide was going up and, in the early morning, the sight wasn’t the worst in Los Angeles.

"Shouldn't you?" He replied, and it came out oddly teasing… not as unbearable as she would have thought.

"No." Sara admitted with a sigh. "It's not as though I'm of any use to them, apart from –" She interrupted herself, and Kellerman gave her a restrained smile. He didn’t ask exactly what she did contribute to the team and, though the information was known to them both, she would rather not say.

"Well," he said, doing his best not to sound too obnoxious, "if it can make you feel better, we aren't making that much progress anyway. Most of the team is as lost as you are."

Sara arched a brow. "You're lost?"

"No. But I’m clever enough to be able to tell when my presence is unwanted. I only wish Self hadn't called me if that was going to be the case. I'm done with this sort of games."

There was nothing to do but take his word for it.

"So basically, you're saying you have a hard time fitting in." Sara said. It had come out ironical, but her voice was drained of humor.

Poor Paul Kellerman integrating a harsh team. Had her back hurt his knife?

"I'm not here to make friends, Sara." He answered. "I want to take down the people who ruined my life, don't you?"

She didn't reply, and didn't dare lower his eyes from his, as though it would give him some sort of power. "I don't think so, no." She ultimately answered. "If it wasn't for Michael, if it was just up to me, I would let this go."

"Then why are you here?"

For some reason, the question hurt. "Like I said." She stated calmly. "I'm with Michael."

She said it as a reminder – maybe also as a warning. Probably unnecessary, but from time to time, when Paul Kellerman would look at her a certain way, she would get the feeling that it wasn’t.

How he looked at her, spoke her name, even without saying anything disrespectful –

It all seemed to hint he was _entitled_ to her somehow.

His to kill or love or torture, or whatever it was Kellerman did with his belongings.

"Of course." He said, apparently calm. "After everything you've been through together, I imagine it feels as though being with him is the thing to do."

Sara found that a little insulting. As though she were with Michael not because she loved him, but because after giving up her whole life for him, it was all that was left to do. "That's not the way I would put it." She retorted, both polite and cold. "But I don’t expect you to understand."

Though he had hit a sensitive note.

Maybe it _was_ true, in a way. After everything that had happened to her, after Panama, it had felt natural that if she made it out, it would be to go back to Michael. Because she loved him, of course, not because she ought to. But that wasn’t exactly what she’d dreamed their life would be –

After all the pain they’d both been put through, how disappointing that their love for each other couldn’t begin to balance it. Would it be different, if it were just she and Michael and a house, if they could make love all day, feed on summer fruits, some earthly paradise that she used to think would exist for them, somehow. She’d _had_ to believe this in order to survive.

Then, how anticlimactic, that in this warehouse full of working criminals, his love for her didn’t outshine everything else, didn’t somehow fill her soul with magical wonder, didn’t erase everything that was there before – or all that was still lacking.

Sara suddenly realized she and Kellerman had both stopped walking. He was looking at her in that funny way again, intense and silent. Without thinking, Sara started walking again and he followed immediately. "Did I upset you?" He asked.

"No." But that was a lie. Really, she was currently wondering what _the hell_ she was doing taking a stroll down the beach with Paul Kellerman, having a bloody chat. She quickened her footsteps in a vain attempt to lose him.

"Really?" He insisted, annoying as ever. "I have a feeling I did."

Sara didn't retort. She was too busy scolding herself for having such thoughts about love, when things would probably be perfect as soon as Paul Kellerman was out of their lives.

"I just don't think we should be talking anymore." She said.

"What a shame. And I thought we were making progress."

Sara let out a frustrated a sigh. _Walking_ with the man? What had she been thinking?

"You know," he went on, "I didn't force you to be here, Sara." She only stopped when he stepped in front of her, and going forwards would have implied bumping into his chest. "I didn't actually make you do anything." He added.

Sara swallowed, struggling to remain impassive. "Of course. We’re working on the same side now – there’re no secrets for you to draw out of me. Nothing for you to make me do.”

For a moment neither of them said anything. They hadn’t been walking for long and not particularly fast, yet Sara was out of breath. There was something about Paul Kellerman, a certain presence that seemed clearer than ever now, something that felt powerful and virile in the most primal sense of the term. Her cheeks grew red from the heat, and she realized that giving in to her hate of him would be like diving into a bottomless pit. Kellerman was a lot of things, but not the kind of man you feel for moderately. Or who felt for you with moderation. The kind whose feelings consume you.

"Who do you think you are?" Sara heard herself ask.

The question seemed to amuse him, but he didn’t sound mocking. "Why don't you try and guess."

"I don't think I could." She realized. "First you're a recovering crack addict, then you're one of the bad guys and now you're here to help. What is it you're even after with me, a clean slate? Wouldn't it be simpler for us to avoid each other?"

"It's not what it's about."

"Then what? Are you trying to making amends in your life, make up for all of your wrongs?"

"I’m not so patient as that." He smiled joylessly, but the deviousness was there. "You didn't give me an honest answer, earlier. Did I upset you?"

Sara let out a slight sigh of irritation, without being able to break from her disbelief. "I can't see how you could. You're a lovely person."

It was so unexpected for her to joke that Kellerman actually laughed. “All I meant to say,” he resumed, “is that it's normal to feel low after reaching a high. A common paradox. Getting everything you thought you wanted out of life is one of the most unsatisfying things there is."

“Is that why you left the company when Caroline Reynolds became President?” His silence was so stiff she felt compelled to speak again. “Thanks for your theory, but I’m not unsatisfied, Paul. I’m not _unhappy_.”

Kellerman gave her a smile, making her cautious. Still, she was working on figuring out whether he was a decent person in the end of a wolf dressed up as a sheep. "You know, Sara," he said, "I'm no one that you like. I have no intention to judge you and even if I did, what would you care about my judgment? My point is, there’s no one for you to impress here."

Suddenly, what he said made a lot of sense. She didn't know why it hadn't occurred to her before. Around someone she hated, she didn't need to sugarcoat the truth. Paul Kellerman could take it as ugly as it was. _Why_ she told him though, she could never quite figure out.

"Maybe I am," she admitted, "but it's reasonable."

"You're reasonably unhappy?"

"Yes."

He looked serious, hardly exasperating as she knew he could be. Your regular, caring listener.

Something happened that morning, while half a dozen of cons were trying to sort an impossible case inside a warehouse, in L.A. Something happened that had nothing to do with Scylla or the company or any of the things going on in Sara’s life. Absurd, inexplicable, yet Sara never thought to fight it.

One moment, she was in the company of a man she couldn't stand and the next, she was talking to him about everything and nothing while he listened without a complaint. That Paul Kellerman was dangerous never actually slipped her mind. But for some reason, the danger about him started feeling oddly reassuring. As though, with Paul Kellerman walking at her side, she was the safest person in town. They talked about abstract views and principles but also more personal things, and if he might tease her about it later, he behaved remarkably. They walked for hours, and Sara felt all the while she had the power to stop if she chose to.

Sara had never been much of a sharer yet, in the presence of a man who didn't care but was somewhat willing to listen, everything started pouring out.

If she had known these morning walks down the beach would become regular, she might have been more careful, might have thought this would look like an odd friendship to everyone else in the warehouse. But it actually felt so natural, Sara couldn't think of feeling guilty for it, even as those walks would turn into the best part of her day.

Though the morning had been sunny and quiet, Sara and Kellerman stilled with surprise when, all of a sudden, thunder broke from the blue sky and rain started pouring in fat, frozen drops, soaking them both immediately and turning the warm sand beneath their feet into a brownish swamp.

It felt ridiculous to think the world was exactly the same as this morning, when he’d followed her out of the warehouse.

For a moment, it crossed Sara’s mind that the rain might wake them up, that she would look at the awful man in front of her, filled with righteous outrage, but nothing of the sort happened.

Sara tensed under the freezing water and closed her eyes from startle, but when she opened them and saw Paul Kellerman, ridiculously soaking wet in the middle of a beach, she thought even evil masterminds look like idiots when they’re taken by surprise.

And she started laughing.

He arched a brow, exaggeratedly disapproving, as if to suggest this was an immature reaction, but soon – she couldn’t say how soon exactly – whatever had taken over her took him over and he was laughing, too.

Only when thunder roared ominously above them did they start running for shelter, not quite managing to stifle their hilarity along the way. Ultimately, they got themselves under a bridge, though not without sinking knee-deep into the ocean. Then, as morning faded into broad daylight, Kellerman and Sara were still standing there, wet and laughing, mindless of consequences.


	4. I've Never

Sara awoke gasping, bent in half and holding the covers clutched to her chest. The boat cabin had gotten to feel a little bit like home this past week, but now, in the dark blueness of night, she couldn’t seem to remember exactly where she was. Things settled in after a short while. Michael’s spot next to her was empty and – she pressed her palm to the mattress, cold – sure enough, had been empty for some time.

No disappointment or petty resent.

Michael Scofield was a busy man. Busy trying to shut down an evil corporation that had damned nearly ruined all their lives.

What time did that leave available to help her face her own nightmares?

Sleep felt so far out of the picture, Sara started dressing, without even knowing whether it was night or morning. A bathrobe over her top and pajama shorts. What were the odds that she’d run into anyone at this hour? At first, she was going to go straight out for air, sit by the docks, maybe enjoy a few minutes of solitude, but the coffee machine persuaded her to linger inside the warehouse, the time to pour herself a cup. Coffee always smelled to Sara like sleepless med-school nights, bitter but craved, somewhat nostalgic.

"Bad dream?"

Sara couldn’t hold back a gasp. Startled, not exactly frightened.

Kellerman was smiling when she turned back round. That gasp was good for him. Scoring points.

"How did you know I was up?" She asked.

“I heard you get up. Wasn’t sleeping.”

He untangled from the darkness but didn't quite step out of it. _No longer a danger, but nonetheless dangerous_ reminded the voice of caution.

“We aren’t the only ones,” she remarked. Could will herself to sound casual, though he probably didn’t buy it. “Do you know where Michael is?”

He shrugged. “Making a call, outside? Already on the field? Sleeping with his secretary?”

She arched a brow but didn’t bother to look offended.

“If you don’t know, Sara,” he said, “why on earth would I?”

Their game stretched on for a few seconds, neither breaking eye-contact until a small chuckle escaped her and Kellerman dropped the act. It sometimes happened that they played mouse and cat again, a kind of sick joke she figured only they could think was funny.

"Coffee?" Sara offered and Paul gave a small nod.

She could feel as his blue gaze aimed to catch hers, and although she wasn’t in the mood to accept the challenge, she could bear to smile at the effort. "What's your excuse for being up so early?" He wondered.

"What's yours?"

He shrugged his shoulders once more. "We both happened to be restless. I figured we could use some company. Well," he went on, and she didn't realize that he was teasing right away. "Except if you don't want any. I’m certain Michael crowds you with attention."

Sara rolled her eyes. "Remind me why I tell you things."

"You want my psychanalytic best guess?"

"You know," she teased him right back, "maybe it's the fact that when I say them, you actually look sincere, and understanding. Proper human being material.”

He smiled evasively. “I’ve been called worse things.”

“Of course, I should know you’re only saving the information for later torment.”

“Do I _torment_ you? Is that the word for it?”

They were playing, still, when Sara had been meaning to stop. It wasn’t always easy to put a clear end to it – to draw the line.

“Occasionally,” she answered. “In fact, you might want to be careful. People might start thinking you’re completely ruthless. A heart of stone.”

He tilted his head in silent answer. Wasn’t that better than none at all?

“Is that what you think of me, Sara?”

Their eyes battled for another minute. Why did she enjoy this?

“No,” she answered, smiling.

Unable to tell, even from the pit of her soul, whether or not she was lying.

 

...

 

It didn’t immediately strike Sara that something was wrong about her relationship with Paul Kellerman. For starters, it didn’t even really feel secret, although it should be obvious that she was hiding it – oddly enough, not obvious to her. She and Kellerman hardly exchanged a word when the rest of the team was around, but that had gotten to feel like another part of their game – ignoring each other, or even being unbearably rude or cold. Michael and Lincoln probably believed she still hated the man's guts, yet it hadn't occurred to Sara that she was lying. It had never really felt in the least bit important.

Walking down the beach, she would say things to Kellerman she’d never said to anyone. She would talk freely and enjoy his acumen, would be cynically amused at his intelligence and sometimes startled at his open-mindedness. A shame Lance-the-Addict had been a sham. She could have used such a friend.

Then, they would go back to the warehouse, and things would return to normal.

It wasn't that she didn't want people to find out about them, had simply never acknowledged that there was a _them_ to begin with.

That morning, at some point while they were strolling, Kellerman observed. "You never answered my question. Why up so early? Nightmares, was it?"

The question sounded absurd when he said it, but Sara managed not to laugh. “Sick habit,” she only answered, “they die the hardest."

"Is that because of me?"

Momentarily thrown aback by the relevance of his question, she gave an eye-roll and a haughty scoff. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Why should I be flattered to feature in your nightmares?”

She just had a feeling he would.

"Well, then,” he said, “if not me, what are they about?”

This much, she had no desire to share with him. “Don’t we have more interesting things to talk about than dreams?”

He wasn't going to force the truth out of her; was, after all, there to listen if she wanted a listener. "You know,” he said, without giving it thought, “my mom used to say nightmares lose their power when they cross the realm of words. You just put them out in the open, and they turn to dust, like vampires."

"Kellerman, are you talking to me about your mom?"

"Well, for the sake of argument."

Sara let out an amused breath. "Let’s just leave it to the fact that they’re not about you. The nightmares.”

“No, I know they’re not.” He had a way of sounding serious, even when he was teasing. “I would have heard you moaning my name in distress.”

“Paul,” she sighed, “you are ever disgracing to the human race.”

“Well, it would have been a pleasant change.” He was actually laughing himself, then, rather than focused on teasing her – and he shrugged at the puzzled line between her brows when she stopped walking. “All right, I’m sorry if that was out of line.”

“I haven’t got the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”

He exhaled, “Sara, you can’t have noticed _every sound_ in the warehouse is hardly private business.”

“No, Michael said –”

“I know what he said. That it was just from your room. _Trust me, I’m an engineer._ ” Though not exactly laughing, she could still tell he was having the time of his life – and decided to resent it. “Do you know why I know that, Sara?” He resumed. “Because I _heard_ it.”

Sara shut her ajar mouth, biting on air and suddenly clueless as to what to reply. Every conversation she’d had with Michael flashed through her brain, and then, all of the exchanges that hadn’t required words.

Suddenly, the very fact of being looking at Kellerman flushed her cheeks red. She hated the heat in her face as much as she hated the weight of his gaze, and she planted her own on her feet, half-buried in the sand.

“I’ll kill him.”

Kellerman broke into a genuine laughter. When had he gotten so much at ease, she couldn’t remember. “If I’d known it would trigger such a brutal reaction, I would have broken the news to you weeks ago. I honestly thought you knew. Come on, the position of the room and thickness of the ceiling – that was rather convenient than convincing, wasn’t it?”

It was better for it to be like this, Kellerman felt – for him to be in power. Not showing weakness, or letting on that listening to Sara and Michael express their sweet love to each other wasn’t his idea of fun. Now, it might have actually shifted the balance between them. If he had to endure those hours as raging frustration and merciless temptation, why shouldn’t she share at least on some of the bad, feel a little of the humiliation (and really, they were rather long half hours than full-blown hours).

“Wonderful,” she commented, colder even than he had expected. Holding on to her dignity so well, Kellerman took a step back in admiration. For an odd second, he remembered how he’d tortured her in another life ago and she’d told him to go to hell.

It was strength Kellerman liked in women.

All the rest was ultimately boring and bland.

Sara was too focused on the magnitude of the issue to notice the appreciation in his gaze. It was all she needed, for a band of criminals – her current teammates – to hear her sexing all night with their leader.

“Well,” Kellerman said, expertly drawing back her attention, “I do hate to hear them talking about you. I would speak up for you,” he added with the utmost respect, “but given you’re set on not having a relationship with me in public, and somehow I don’t naturally come off as a feminist, my hands are tied – or rather, my mouth is taped up.”

“Not nearly often enough.”

Sara appraised him for a moment, trying to assess what his game was. Not really paying attention to the fact that he had been the first of them to use that word. _Relationship_.

“What’s with you, Paul?” She asked, seriously enough. “You’re rarely so obnoxious.”

“Is that what we’re calling me?” He was careful to sound rather tame. “I’m sorry if that was offensive.”

“Not offensive.” She could read him better than that. “It’s just that now, you’ve seen me at a disadvantage – twice.”

The smile on his lips, she admitted, was a little wicked.

Out there, in the immensity of the beach, alone in the night, it felt harmless, to watch him smile like that.

“And you find that unfair?” He asked.

“Quite.”

“That I know things and that you don’t?” He nodded, considered this briefly. “All right. Let’s settle this, then. Fair is fair.”

He sat down.

Right there, in the sand, dressed in his regular suit. Sara found it so ridiculous she was silent for a while. “What are you doing?”

“Sit with me.”

“No. Are you expecting me to throw sand at you?”

Did she expect he’d debase himself to salvage her wounded honor?

Paul Kellerman, _a gentleman_.

The fool. The delicious fool.

“No,” he said. “But if you sit down with me, I’ll do you one better. Even the scores between us. Wouldn’t you like that?”

Though she was still looking at him beneath an unconvinced brow, Kellerman didn’t grow impatient, didn’t feel like an idiot for sitting there in the sand.

“How is it, Paul,” she said, “that whenever we’re alone together, I always find myself playing games with you?”

How was he supposed not to grin, when she said things like this?

Without it looking like she was caving in, she sat down on the sand, opposite him, somewhat gracefully crossing her legs; she was still only wearing that bathrobe and light nightclothes. It was more political for Kellerman’s eyes not to wander below hers.

“What are we playing?” She said.

“You know ‘I’ve never’?”

“I’ve been to college.” Like that answered it.

“Perfect. Then, I won’t have to talk you through it.”

“Now, wait a minute.” She said, cautious. “Isn’t the point of that game to find out things about each other? You say something you’ve never done, I say something I’ve never done, and we stop when we find we have something in common.”

“Oh, is that how you play it?”

Barring the tequila shots they’d take out of each other’s navels – college made up the wildest of Sara’s partying years – yes, that was about it.

Sara remarked, “I thought the point was exposing _you_.”

“That’d be a little too easy, don’t you think?”

Of course, he had had access to information on her she could never begin to know about him. But he wasn’t about to point it now. Wouldn’t be _political_.

What mattered was, would she play or wouldn’t she?

“All right,” she said. “Then I’ll start easy. I’ve never started a quarrel.”

Did she take him for a smalltime thug?

Still, there had been a few brawls in his early twenties. He and the guys in military school hadn’t seen eye to eye right away and he supposed _you could say_ he’d started a few of them.

Taking the time to give her a reprobating look, he raised his hand, anyway –

Raising your hand to say _guilty_ was a little underwhelming. If it weren’t for the ex-alcoholic business, he’d be getting her drinking by now. That would play out better for him, probably.

What was he doing, sitting in the night with her, talking to her about the world and whatever else she fancied?

Was it for her or him?

He couldn’t tell anymore.

“The point is not to be obvious, Tancredi.” He said, felt victorious that she scoffed at the use of her surname. “I’ll show you how it’s done. I’ve never sang in a karaoke club."

After a small exhale, she raised her own hand – he could just picture her, holding a mike, pressing it sensually to her mouth, soft lyrics gliding out, smooth and low.

 _Why_ was he here, torturing himself with what he couldn’t have?

“My, my,” she said, not altogether impressed. “You didn't tell me we were playing dirty."

"Is there any other way to play?" He added after a pause, wanting it to sound like it didn’t matter. “What did you sing?”

"If you're so clever, you'll have to guess.” She shifted a little, a layer of sand clinging to her bare legs. “My turn. Let's see. I've never lied to a girl in order to get in her bed."

Kellerman raised his hand with mock annoyance, pleasantly surprised at her. "So, Sara, now we say 'bed' to each other?"

"You started it, you know you did." She reminded. "What was the lie?"

“You didn’t share your song. I don’t see why I should be magnanimous.”

And he wouldn’t want her to get the wrong idea. There had been lies, a lot more lies than there’d been women in his life – before her, he hadn’t been very interested in all that, liked the hard feel of a gun in his hand better than to wake up warm with a woman’s soft body in his arms. Could take as much pleasure holding power over someone’s life as he could in the throes of orgasm.

In truth, you could say his friendship with Sara was the most _bizarre_ developments of all. Because just as she no longer seemed to hate him, part of him started hating her – hating her for awakening that strange desire inside his flesh.

Was it worse to walk with her every day, to listen and talk, to play games that only seemed to take them anywhere but where he wanted to go?

Maybe it’s for that reason he stopped playing fair completely.

“My turn, then,” he said. “If you’re going to talk about lying to people to get them in bed – I’ve never _followed_ a liar into bed myself.”

She looked thrown off, first. Then, a flash of anger flashed through her eyes before her lips tightened coldly. “Well, you wouldn’t know it if you had, would you?”

He answered calmly, “I’d know.”

“If you’re calling Michael a liar –”

“I’m not calling anyone anything. Just saying ‘I’ve never’. It’s part of the game, isn’t it?”

A chuckle broke out of Sara’s lips, getting tangled up with a disgusted exhale. “All right. Well, I’ve never prostituted myself to the American government. I’ve never let anyone use my body to kill and _torture_ people and bury them where they’d never be found –”

“You call that prostitution?”

Part of him could tell this was going too far. He should stop, now, before he ruined everything he’d managed to build with her, but words were clambering out of his mouth like scorpions.

“I’ve never signed up to work in a male prison for repentance,” he said, watched as the flare in her eyes caught fire and, this time, was there to stay. “To make up for my shitty actions, for the pleasure of self-abnegation – maybe also so my father would notice me.”

The smile on Sara’s lips was superficial but uninjured. Possibly, he’d gotten this all wrong.

“Wow.” She said. “I've never had fantasies about the President of the United States."

"I've never dated someone while they were still in jail."

"I've never told myself I was born a monster and used it as an excuse not to change."

He stared at her for a minute, furiously, out of words, before they just leapt out. "I've never done the most stupid, terrible thing in my life while thinking I was doing it for love."

For a moment, they looked silently into each other’s eyes, without blinking.

Was he thinking about her leaving the door open for Michael in Fox River, or allowing herself to be tortured to death sooner than telling on the man she loved?

It didn’t seem to matter in the end; he got his answer.

“You see, Sara,” Kellerman finished, colder than ever. “You and I do have something in common after all.”

 

…

 

They were silent on their way back to the warehouse. The sun had started rising, which meant he didn’t have an awful lot of time to make this up to her – once they were back inside, they’d be back to ignoring each other.

“I want to apologize,” he said. “For getting carried away.”

Sara sighed, somewhat wearily. Maybe her way of saying, she had a feeling he’d carried them both exactly where he’d meant to. Instead, she settled for asking, “Your games always get out of hands, Kellerman?”

“What do you think?”

“I think, after all we’ve been through, you owe it to me to say it.”

“I’m sorry?”

“What was it?” She asked.

They had to stop walking, then, because they were just near the entrance of the warehouse, and she visibly wanted to finish this conversation before the day started and their friendship became some faraway dream – until the next morning.

“The thing you were talking about,” she said. “The most horrible thing you’ve ever done for love.”

Kellerman only looked back at her, for a moment. His silent made her more serious – and cautious.

What was he supposed to say?

That she could laugh it out, now, the joke was on him, and she _should know_ what that joke was, she’d taken part in playing it.

There they were, stuck in this god-forsaken warehouse in Los Angeles, playing _friends_ and sharing talks, but they weren’t doing it for the same reasons. She _chose_ to, out of boredom or loneliness or whatever else. But there was nothing else for him to do, when she was the obsession he woke up with and carried to bed every night, there, staring at him when he closed his eyes, from the bottom of his mind.

Unforgettable.

Untouchable.

The most terrible thing Kellerman had ever done out of love, was torturing Sara Tancredi and leaving her to die all in order to please a woman he adored, a woman he now wished were dead and buried. And by doing this, of course, he’d ruined any possible chance he had at making himself anything but a monster to Sara’s eyes.

“No,” he answered, uncompromising, “you don’t get to ask me that, Sara. You ought to know,” he added, for whatever reason. “I figured you knew.”

And if she didn’t before, if she had wondered what Kellerman was even doing here, working for Agent Self – now, she had to.

Sara stood perfectly still, incapable of mustering a reply, and Kellerman opened the door and slipped in before she had a chance to stop him. Then, she was going to follow him and ask for an explanation, but suddenly, every pair of eyes in the room set fixedly on her – Michael, Lincoln, Bellick, that Roland kid and Mahone.

A lot of eyes, suddenly, for the things she’d just heard, and the night robe she was wearing.

 Kellerman visibly hadn’t taken notice of this and had already disappeared upstairs. She should probably head for her own room (the super thin-walled boat cabin), but the men’s eyes willed her to stay in place.

She may as well carry this off in dignity. “Good morning,” she said.

“Morning?” Michael repeated. He was at her side in a second, and it was good, his immediate concern, like sliding into a warm bath. A moment later, she hated herself for thinking this. “Sara, is that really all you have to say? Good morning?”

"I – I don't follow."

"You disappeared." Lincoln said, matter-of-factly. "With Kellerman. Without telling anyone where you were going."

"I went for a walk." She turned back to Michael. "I didn't think you'd be worried."

"Of course, I'm worried."

Sara threw a quick glance at the crowded room around them. "Maybe we should go somewhere more private?" She would never think of her boat cabin as private again, but that was a conversation that would have to wait.

Sara was still reeling from what had happened with Kellerman as well as from her boyfriend’s reaction, as they climbed inside the boat and both sat down on the bed.

"My god, Sara." Michael sighed. "You can't do that to me ever again. I was expecting to get a ransom note from that psychopath any time."

"I'm sorry.” It was the thing to say. She didn’t linger on whether or not she meant it. Was she supposed to admit she’d done this before, that she really hadn’t thought he’d notice? “I mean, I couldn’t find you when I woke up, either, Michael. I didn’t wake up the whole gang and panic.”

“I didn’t go over a hundred yards from the warehouse,” he said. “There’s a difference.”

“There _is_ a difference.” She couldn't hold back an incredulous laugh. "Michael, I'm a free citizen, unlike most of you here. If I want to go for a stroll, well – I didn’t think that’d be a great source of concern. And I hadn't realized you believed I stayed locked up in my room every hour of the day."

He nodded, making an effort to look understanding.

This should be easy for him. What was blocking him, what was so hard to understand about it?

“All right,” he said, calm – the same softness in his voice that had seduced her so easily. “I might have overreacted.”

“Thank you.”

“That being said,” he went on, and she could hear how strange it was for him to be asking out loud. “Correct me if I’m wrong here, but were you actually taking a walk with – Kellerman?”

A few seconds of speechlessness.

There was that image Sara remembered from a picture book, with a little girl caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

 _What_ was with her?

Paul Kellerman, even in his sweetest days, was the most remote thing from a cookie jar.

And yet, the image wouldn’t get out.

“Um – yeah.” She ran a hand through her red hair. “We sometimes do that,” _sometimes_ sounded better than _every morning_. It hadn’t struck her until just then, just how much time she spent with him. “We just – work on our issues.”

It didn’t immediately occur to her that she was lying.

"You mean,” Michael’s forehead was puckered in incomprehension, “you hang out?"

"Something like that."

“With Paul Kellerman?”

Sara exhaled. “I believe I’ve said that.”

“Sara –” Michael actually seemed at a loss what argument to raise in order to make her see how incredible this was. He actually went with the worst he might have picked. "The man is a _murderer_."

She stared back at him, and her mouth ran without her. "So am I."

He closed his eyes with a sigh of apology. She could hear him cursing himself in his mind. "My god, Sara. I did not mean it like that. You killed a man in self-defense. That’s nothing like –”

“Like Kellerman.” She finished. “I know.”

And yet, she wondered if that wasn’t part of what made sense of those long strolls down the beach she was inexplicably fond of.

The quietness of being around a man who would never be frightened by her darkness, whose heart would always be darker than her own.

“Look, it’s just I don’t think he’s the most reliable man to be around,” Michael resumed.

Sara heard the undeniable logic in this. “Of course.” In a corner of her brain, she wondered if Kellerman was lying on the floor of his room, trying to catch every word of their conversation. “Unreliable is certainly the word for him.”

“So, maybe you should –”

Just because of how embarrassed he sounded, she realized what he was going to ask. “Stop seeing him?” She prompted, not compliant or particularly defiant. She really didn’t know what to make of this.

“I don’t mean to tell you what you should be doing.”

“And yet you are.”

“Just – it’d ease my mind a lot,” he said, “if I didn’t have to imagine you alone with that man.”

Sara closed her mouth, couldn’t think of what to answer. This _was_ a sound argument. It actually seemed awfully cruel to force her boyfriend to endure the thought of her, having a pleasant chat with someone who had nearly been her executer.

“Of course,” she said.

 _Of course_. What had been the sense in this, exactly, in what Kellerman had called their _relationship_? Right now, Sara couldn’t say; nor could she really imagine the void that would replace those moments shared with her new, strange friend.

“Then I won’t see him more than I have to,” she promised. Again, the thing to say.

How could she not put her boyfriends’ feelings first on something like this?

And, if anything like friendship was actually being born between she and Kellerman, nipping it in the bud was probably the safest plan.

 


End file.
